


Duality

by PsychicPineapple



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Lydia is a badass, Obsession, Unrequited, peter is a creep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-13
Updated: 2014-03-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 14:09:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1307626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychicPineapple/pseuds/PsychicPineapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coda to 'De-void'. Peter's been diverging from his pattern and Lydia wants to know why.</p><p>**</p><p>"I pulled you out of your grave and I can put you back in it. Just give me a reason."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Duality

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd and a bit of a rush job, just wanted to get this scene out of my brain. Please leave kudos and comments if you like it or have concrit!

Peter looked like he’d been expecting her, but then, he always did. Turning away from the enormous window he let his gaze sweep up her body, a slow caress.

 

‘Lydia,’ it wasn’t a greeting, just an acknowledgment.

 

‘Peter,’ she returned.

 

She stood in the doorway to the loft, set aglow by the afternoon light. The same radiance cast a shadow over Peter’s face as he watched her, edging him in a angelic halo of golden light and _oh_ , the irony. Neither one of them spoke, each holding their cards close to their chests. After all, when you don’t know the stakes of the game the worst thing you can possibly do is tip your hand.

 

At length Lydia stepped lightly down their stairs, heels clicking and hair bouncing. Her skirt rustled around her thighs, a flowing floral pattern on a field of creamy yellow. She’d never admit that she’d bought it because it reminded her of wolfsbane, that wearing it made her feel protected. Made her feel strong.

 

 _I need you tell me what happened at Scott’s house_ , she thought.

 

‘Tell me what happened at Scott’s house,’ she demanded.

 

Peter rolled one muscular shoulder in a shrug. ‘You were there. Mostly. What part seems to be giving you trouble?’

 

‘I heard your voice,’ she admitted. ‘When I was in Stiles’ head, I heard you calling me.’

 

‘That’s because I was,’ Peter answered simply, as though anything could possibly be simple where he was concerned. ‘You were giving in, you were failing,’ he turned away, facing to the window. ‘You couldn’t tell me about my daughter if you were dead.’

 

Lydia narrowed her eyes, slightly. There was something there. If she were a wolf, she might have heard his heartbeat skip. ‘And after?’

 

‘After?’ Peter still faced away, and Lydia studied the set of his shoulders.

 

‘You put yourself between me and Stiles, when you thought it was the Nogitsune.’ He didn’t reply, didn’t move, and Lydia sighed. ‘You’re not exactly known for your selfless gestures, Peter, and you already had her name. Malia.’

 

 _There._ An almost imperceptible twitch. Lydia waited.

 

‘What is it that you want, banshee?’ He whirled to face her, face sour, his sullen impassivity slipping.

 

‘The only thing I ever want from you, Peter; information. Answers.’

 

His lip curled. ‘It was instinct.’

 

‘Your only instinct is self-preservation,’

 

‘You wound me,’

 

‘Not as much as I’d like to,’

 

He took a breath, refusing to be drawn in to the banter. ‘Why do you care?’ He asked at last. He leant forward, bracing his arms on the long steel table as he awaited her answer.

 

‘Because you have a pattern. You’re predictable,’ she hurled the word like an insult. ‘You’re textbook chaotic neutral, but what you did back there doesn’t fit your pattern. And if I’ve learned one thing since this town went to hell it’s to never ignore a deviation. Now,’ she raised her chin, meeting his eye squarely, ‘tell me what happened.’

 

Peter had been gradually tensing as she spoke. He felt a tremor run through his body, a rush of primal fight-or-flight, but it was only chanting _flee, flee, flee._ He felt caged. When she looked at him like that, head held high, eyes flashing with contempt and _authority_ , he felt himself lash out.

 

‘What is it that you want to hear?’ He snarled, slamming his fists down on the table with a shuddering thud. ‘That I can’t stop thinking about you? That ever since you pulled me from the cold, dark earth nothing has felt warm except _you_? How your presence, your scent, is like a beacon to me, pulling at me every waking hour?’

 

He swiped his hands sideways, sending the heavy table skidding across the loft with ease. ‘How I _hate_ it? How I fight this need to protect you, to surround myself with you, with every fiber of my being? How I’ve spilled my own blood to distract myself?’ He stalked closer, slowly, eyeing her like prey. She stood still, eyes wide, trembling and alert like a doe that’s caught the scent of death on the breeze.

 

‘How I want to rip that boy in half because he’s touched you?’ Lydia didn’t know if he meant Jackson or Aiden, but in truth it didn’t matter to Peter. He’d shred a hundred men for the crime of knowing her skin. His voice was low, husky, tight with restraint as he raised a shaking hand to her face. ‘How when I see these full, perfect lips I don’t know if I want to tear them off your face or kiss th-‘

 

His eyes bulged grotesquely as he tensed, every one of his muscles contracting painfully and rendering him immobile as electricity surged through his body. Lydia stepped back, disengaging the taser and letting Peter fall, convulsing, to the floor. She held the weapon in front of her as she crouched down, finger on the trigger.

 

‘You don’t touch me,’ she whispered viciously, venomously, ‘I don’t care what you think you feel, what sick side effects your little magic trick had; I pulled you out of your grave and I can put you back in it. Just give me a reason.’

 

He twitched, limbs jerking as she stood and turned to leave.

 

‘Lydia,’ he hissed, every syllable an effort, ‘I didn’t _ask_ for this.’

 

His movements still beyond his control, he could only stare at her pristine blue pumps as they clicked up the stairs and out of the loft without a word.

 

Peter’s heart was thrumming erratically in his chest; part of it was the electricity but part of it was _her_. She’d been so close, he’d nearly had her skin under his fingers. Her scent still lingered, flowers spiked with rage, and some part of him _purred_ with contentment.

 

They knew the stakes, they’d shown their hands. But Peter would never have survived this long without knowing how to keep an ace up his sleeve. Their game wasn’t over yet.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>   
>   
>  The moment that launched this ship for me. Gif courtesy of melanoradrood.tumblr.com  
> 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I haven't written Lydia as a lead before and I've _never_ written Peter so I hope they're not too ooc. Find me on tumblr at tylergoddamnposey.tumblr.com


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